


Paler spots in the wallpaper

by lwtmehome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Post-Break Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:49:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lwtmehome/pseuds/lwtmehome
Summary: "Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts."





	Paler spots in the wallpaper

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about moving away from a house you've lived in for many years, where you have all of your dearest memories and somehow it morphed into this. It's written more to myself than anyone else, but I felt like posting it. So, here you go.

The brisk autumn air makes Louis pull his hood tighter around his neck, trying to guard himself from the cold of the world. The cigarette butt still dangling between his fingers feels oddly heavy – it’s not like Louis wants to be sentimental about all this. His nerves from earlier have calmed down, at least, as he stares somewhere in the distance, wondering why life tends to only give him half-assed happiness, the kind that ends before it really even begins. Eventually he discards the butt in the ashtray, unceremoniously and steps inside.

He’s not going to miss this, probably. 

The flat feels empty, stripped. Boxes labeled ’kitchen stuff’ or ’bedroom’ are scattered around the space, waiting to be removed, waiting to say their last goodbyes. Much like Louis. He should have listened to Liam, Louis thinks, as he lets his fingers absentmindedly travel along the paler spots on the wallpaper where paintings or framed photographs had once hung. He should have hired the painter to do his job before he came here himself, maybe that way he could have avoided the feelings of loss and ache from sneaking in. Maybe. 

As he waits, he goes to check the bedroom for one last time. God knows it isn’t a good idea, but he needs to do this. It’s the only room in the house that holds any true significance – or so Louis tells himself. The big room now lies there empty and unused and even with it’s relatively colourful walls, it looks haunted at its best. The door frame fits against Louis painfully well, and if Louis were a bit more superstitious, he’d say he can see the line of his own body imprinted on it. He’s not, though, so he doesn’t see anything other than a worn out wooden frame. 

In Louis’ mind the room is filled with memories: laughter dotted with tears and fights so fierce that no one could even imagine, passion and hurt – seven years of his-- _their_ life. He’s not sentimental, he’s _not._ With that, he steps away from the hollow room and makes his way to the kitchen, just to get away from, well, the emotions. 

He hops on the marble counter top, one last time, he thinks. World always seemed to be a little bit better place, looking from there. Problems weren’t as big, challenges weren’t quite as frightening. Louis has to let out a small breath to avoid the tears from actually forming. It’s just a house, just a place, he reminds himself. An echo of the door opening and then thudding shut travels through the flat, and Louis clears his throat silently as the familiar click of a pair of shoes come closer.

Harry rounds the corner, his jacket pulled close and his brows knitted together. ”Hi.” 

”Hey,” Louis nods and offers a small, uncommitted smile. 

Harry casts a look around the space, his brows furrowing even deeper. ”Wow. Was it always this big?” 

”I guess,” Louis nearly cringes at the way his voice sounds, bouncing from the walls. ”All the furniture’s gone, so.” 

”And the laughter,” Harry says, loyal to his way of making a small-talk feel like a filled-with-heavy-feelings-talk. 

Their eyes meet, but Louis has to turn his away. He can’t do this here. Not right now, not with Harry. ”The, uh, boxes. Liam divided them into mine and yours. Yours are on the left side.” 

He hops off the counter and tucks his hands into his back pockets. Harry takes a look at the boxes and nods. ”That was kind of him.” 

”He’s a good lad,” Louis admits, feeling awkward. It’s not like both of them have known Liam for seven years or anything. 

Now that there’s another person, Harry, in the flat, it seems a little less empty, but just as cold and hollow. It feels blank, even though he can still clearly see the signs of their joint life in the room. There are scrapes on the floor they’d caused, there are spots and creases on the wallpaper. Everything’s kind of there, right at their hands, ready to be grasped, but at the same time unreachable. 

Louis can see Harry’s thinking something along the same lines, judging by the way his arms wrap around his torso, like he’s comforting himself. It feels wrong to Louis, the way they’re standing so far away from each other. He’d always thought when they eventually would have to sell this flat, to say goodbye to it, it’d be with smiles on their faces and warmth of memories in their minds. Right now it just feels awful to let go, like they’d ripped apart the closest thing to a home they had, and for Louis that means he has no home to go back to. Their lives are packed up in boxes, separate boxes that lay on different sides of the room. This isn’t how he pictured it.

”I know you’re not the type to be sentimental about stuff like this,” Harry begins, ”But this does feel like an end of an era, doesn’t it?” 

Louis can’t hold back the snort. ”If you’re quoting Friends right now, Harold, then you’ve outdone yourself.”

Harry lets a genuine smile slip on to his lips at Louis’ words. ”But you know I’m right.”

”Yeah, I suppose,” Louis hums. 

It’s quiet for a moment, and the silence feels respectful and it should probably be the moment where they let go of the bond they’ve developed to the flat, let go of the final sentiment that attaches them to it, but Louis knows he’ll be thinking about this place for months. And not just the flat, he reminds himself as he lets his gaze flit to Harry briefly. 

”Well then,” the said man says, his tone determined in a way that says he’s decided to make his peace with everything that ever happened under this roof, ”I guess we should leave the keys.” 

Louis hesitates for a bit before pulling the pair of keys from his pocket. He has to take off his key chains – a chip from Vegas that has ’28’ on it and a ring Harry bought from one of those bubblegum machines when they were still in X-Factor. A few meters from him, Harry’s removing the soft, pink ball of fur and Louis’ blue pick from his keys, before stuffing them back into his coat’s pocket. Louis wonders if they’ll make their way back to Harry’s new keys. 

”Kitchen counter top, was it?” Louis asks, stalling.

”Yeah, I think so,” Harry nods. 

Neither one of them make an effort to move, neither dares to face the other and it’s not even weird of them, Louis supposes. They are giving away so much along with these keys, among them their seven-years-long relationship. 

Harry lets out a small noise, before nodding towards the balcony. ”Aren’t you going to have one last smoke? Don’t you think the flat deserves that much?” 

”I already had one,” Louis admits awkwardly, scratching his neck. 

Harry blinks. ”Then bloody have another last cigarette.” 

And Louis does. 

They lean on the railing together, much closer than is strictly necessary for two people that have recently broken up. The cigarette doesn’t really even taste like anything and Louis has been meaning to quit the nasty habit. Maybe he will now that he’s moving. Maybe he won’t, who knows. 

”’M gonna miss this view,” Harry says and his eyes are trained on Louis, before turning back towards the city. 

This evokes a small but genuine smile out of Louis. ”Yeah, me too.” 

The flat had been like a lottery win for the two of them. Their first home together, one that they’d spent weeks and then weeks decorating, making it look more and more like them. One where they had had a complete privacy, a place where they could do what they wanted to do, away from the prying eyes. _A home_ that had formed into something so much more along the years. Today it’s a symbol, on top of all that. 

As Louis puts his cigarette out and in the ashtray, he finally lets the emotions flood him. This truly is his last cigarette in here. This truly is his and Harry’s last moment here, under this roof. Under the very same roof they made a promise to stay together for the rest of their lives and the same roof that witnessed them break that promise. Louis offers Harry a helpless smile, at a loss for words. 

”One last kiss and then we’re out of here,” Harry murmurs, not quite looking at Louis. ”I believe in cycles. Let’s finish this one.” 

And Harry’s right, Louis remembers to his own surprise. A kiss had been their way of inaugurating the flat. They’d been giddy and excited even though back then all the flat had contained besides two young, beating hearts had been an air mattress and a microwave. So he nods. 

It’s easy to fall back into Harry’s arms, easy to forget why they’d even let go in the first place as their lips mend together and Louis, hesitantly, allows the memories float away, plaster themselves on the walls and the ceiling. As the two of them get closer, tongues mingling together, the memories get stuck harder, playing on replay all around them and somehow Louis feels like eventually, they’ll both be okay. Eventually, the wounds will heal and the hurt will be gone. 

And maybe then, he’ll let the memories back in. Maybe he’ll come see the flat again, maybe he’ll be able to. Harry’s warm, large hands push Louis gently away and as Louis lets his eyes flutter open, he comes face to face with a wrecked Harry. A young boy, so incredibly sensitive- Louis forgot he even existed anymore underneath all those layers- underneath all those paintings and framed black and white photographs were the paler spots and creases that made up Harry. 

”Are you gonna be okay, love?” Louis whispers. 

The younger nods, turning his gaze away. ”We’ll both be okay. Never complete or the same again. But we’ll be happy.” 

They separate, Louis unable to find any words. He’s ready to leave now, he thinks and says as much. He needs to go now. 

And so they leave the four keys lying on the counter top, Harry’s placed neatly next to each other and Louis’ messily lying on top of each other. They walk through the space once more in silence, both in thought, before they slip out of the flat, locking the door behind themselves. They wouldn’t have to step a foot in the building ever again and Louis’ thankful. The movers will bring the rest of the boxes and that’ll be the only reminder of what life he ever had in that house and by the time those things arrive, he’ll hopefully be better, lying under the sun in Ibiza. 

At the door Harry gives him one last smile and a hug. 

”We had a good run.” 

Louis has to agree. ”We did. And one day someone’s going to love you gentler than I ever could. He’s gonna give you a home far better than this one ever was.” 

Then younger shakes his head. ”If that helps you, I suppose.” 

And it does help Louis, so he doesn’t continue, just says his goodbyes and leaves Harry standing at the door, a whole life ahead of him. Louis isn’t sure where his feet will take him, but hopefully somewhere nice. Yeah, he thinks, nice will do just fine. It’s not passionate or fierce- but it’s safe and stable. It’s not Harry, but it’s safe and stable.


End file.
